Fields of Blood (16 page)

A considerable part of the year was devoted to military campaigning. The Shang had no great territorial ambitions but made war simply to enforce their authority: extorting tribute from peasants, fighting invaders from the mountains, and punishing rebellious cities by carrying off crops, cattle, slaves, and craftsmen. Sometimes they fought the “
barbarians,” the peoples who surrounded the Shang settlements and had not yet assimilated to Chinese civilization.
¹⁹
These militant circuits around the kingdom were a ritualized imitation of the sage kings’ annual processions to maintain cosmic and political order.

The Shang attributed their victories to Di, the war god. Yet there also seems to have been considerable anxiety, because it was impossible to rely on him.
²⁰
As we can see from the surviving oracle bones and turtle shells on which the royal diviners inscribed questions for Di, he often sent drought, flooding, and disaster and was an undependable military ally. Indeed, he could “confer assistance” on the Shang but just as easily support their enemies. “The Fang are harming or attacking us,” mourned one oracle. “It is Di who orders them to make disaster for us.”
²¹
These scattered pieces of evidence suggest a regime constantly poised for attack, surviving only by ceaseless martial vigilance. There are also references to human sacrifice: prisoners of war and rebels were routinely executed and, although the evidence is not conclusive, may have been offered up to the gods.
²²
Later generations certainly associated the Shang with ritual murder. The philosopher
Mozi (c. 480–390 BCE) was clearly revolted by the elaborate funerals of a Shang aristocrat: “As for the men who are sacrificed in order to follow him, if he should be a [king], they will be counted in hundreds or tens. If he is a great officer or a baron, they
will be counted in tens or units.”
²³
Shang rituals were violent because martial aggression was essential to the state. And even though the kings implored Di for help in their wars, in reality they owed their success to their military skills and bronze weapons.

In 1045 BCE the Shang were defeated by the
Zhou, a less sophisticated clan from the
Wei Valley in the west of the great plain. The Zhou established a feudal system: the king ruled from his western capital but also maintained a presence in a new royal city in the east; the other cities were parceled out to Zhou princes and allies who ruled as his vassals and bequeathed these fiefs to their descendants; and the Shang retained a domain in Song. Continuity was always important in premodern civilization, so the Zhou were anxious to continue the Shang ancestral cult to uphold their regime. But how could they plausibly do so when they had executed the last Shang king? The Duke of Zhou, regent for his nephew, the young King
Cheng, found a solution that he announced at the consecration of the new eastern capital. Di, whom the Zhou called “
Heaven” (
Tian
), had made the Zhou his instrument to punish the Shang, whose last kings had been cruel and corrupt. Filled with pity for the suffering people, Heaven had revoked the Shang’s mandate to rule and appointed the Zhou to succeed them, making King Cheng the new Son of Heaven. This was also a warning for Cheng, who must learn to be “reverently careful” of “the little people,” because Heaven would take its mandate away from any ruler who oppressed his subjects. Heaven had chosen the Zhou because of their deep commitment to justice, so King Cheng must not inflict harsh punishments on the min.
²⁴
Even though this did little to reduce the systemic violence of the Chinese state in practice, the mandate of Heaven was an important religious and political development, because, if only in theory, it made the ruler morally accountable to his people and instructed him to feel responsible for them. This would remain an important ideal in China.

Heaven was obviously a very different kind of deity from Di of the Shang, who had had no interest in human behavior. Heaven would never issue commandments or intervene directly in human affairs, however, for Heaven was not supernatural but inseparable from the forces of nature and active also in the royal potency (
de
) of the king and princes who ruled as Heaven’s Sons. Heaven was also not omnipotent, because it
could not exist without Earth, its divine counterpart. Unlike the Shang, the Zhou exploited the agricultural potential of the great plain on a grand scale, and because Heaven’s influence could be implemented on Earth only through the work of human beings, farming, forest clearance, and road building became sacred tasks that completed the creation Heaven had begun. The Chinese were clearly more interested in sanctifying the world they lived in than finding a transcendent holiness beyond.

The Zhou king was supported by a four-tier aristocracy of “gentlemen” (
junzi
); Western scholars have translated their titles as “duke,” “marquis,” “earl,” and “baron.” The
shi,
children of younger sons and second-class wives, served as men-at-arms but also as scribes and ritual experts, forming an early “civil” wing of government. The Zhou confederacy of more than a hundred small principalities survived until 771, when their western capital was overrun by the
Qong Rang
barbarians. The Zhou fled to the east but never fully recovered. Yet the succeeding period witnessed not merely the decline of a dynasty but also the decay of the feudal system. The kings remained nominal rulers but were increasingly challenged by the more aggressive “gentlemen” in the principalities, who were casting aside the deference on which
feudalism depended.
²⁵
The boundaries of the Chinese states were also shifting. By this time, the Chinese had absorbed several “barbarian” populations, all with very different cultural traditions that challenged the old Zhou ethos. Cities located far away from the traditional centers of Chinese civilization were becoming locally prominent, and by the end of the eighth century, when Chinese history starts to emerge from the mists of legend, they had become capitals of kingdoms:
Jin in the north,
Qi in the northwest, and Chu in the south. These states ruled thousands of barbarian subjects, whose grasp of Chinese custom was at best superficial. The small principalities in the center of the great plain had now become extremely vulnerable, because these peripheral states were determined to expand. During the seventh century, they broke with tradition and began to mobilize peasants as fighting foot soldiers; Jin and Chu even brought barbarians into the army, offering them land in return for military service.

Deeply threatened by these aggressive kingdoms, some of the traditional principalities were also riven by internal conflict. With the decline of the Zhou, public order had deteriorated, and increasingly, brute force was becoming the norm. It was not uncommon for princes to kill ministers who dared to challenge their policies; ambassadors could be
murdered and rulers assassinated during visits to another principality. To add to the tension, it seems that there was also an environmental crisis.
²⁶
Centuries of aggressive hunting and land clearance that destroyed animal habitats meant that huntsmen were returning empty-handed and there was far less meat at the bin banquets, so the old carefree extravagance was no longer possible. In this climate of uncertainty, people wanted clear directives, so the
shi
ritual experts of the principality of
Lu recodified the traditional Chinese custumal law to provide guidance.
²⁷

The Chinese had an aristocratic code, known as the
li
(“rituals”), that ruled the behavior of the individual but also of the state, and that functioned in a way similar to our international law. The
ru
(“ritualists”) now based their reform of this code on the conduct of the
sage kings
Yao and
Shun, whom they presented as models of restraint, altruism, forbearance, and kindness.
²⁸
This new ideology was clearly critical of regimes guided by violent, arrogant, or selfish policies. Yao, it claimed, had been so “reverent, intelligent, accomplished, sincere, and mild” that the potency (
de
) of these qualities had radiated from him to all Chinese families and created the Great Peace.
²⁹
In an extraordinary act of self-abnegation, Yao had bequeathed the empire to the lowborn Shun, passing over his own son because he was deceitful and quarrelsome. Shun even behaved with courtesy and respect to his father, who had tried to murder him. The reformed li were designed to help the gentlemen cultivate these same qualities. A junzi’s demeanor should be “sweet and calm.”
³⁰
Instead of asserting himself aggressively, he should “yield” (
rang
) to others, and far from stifling him, this would perfect his humanity (
ren
). The reformed li were therefore expressly designed to curb belligerence and chauvinism.
³¹
Political life should instead be dominated by restraint and yielding.
³²
“The li teach us that to give free rein to one’s feelings and let them follow their bent is the way of barbarians,” explained the ritualists; “the ceremonial fixes degrees and limits.”
³³
In the family, the eldest son should minister to his father’s every need, addressing him in a low, humble voice, never expressing anger or resentment; in return, a father must treat all his children fairly, kindly, and courteously. The system was so designed that each family member received a measure of reverence.
³⁴
We do not know exactly how all this worked out in practice; certainly many Chinese continued to strive aggressively for power, but it seems that by the end of the seventh century, a significant number of those living in the traditional principalities were beginning to value moderation
and self-control and even the peripheral states of
Qi,
Jin, Chu, and Qin accepted these ritualized imperatives.
³⁵

The li tried to control the violence of warfare by turning it into a courtly game.
³⁶
Killing large numbers of enemies was considered vulgar—it was the “way of barbarians.” When an officer boasted that he had slaughtered six of the enemy, his prince had gravely replied: “You will bring great dishonour on your country.”
³⁷
It was not proper to slay more than three fugitives after a battle, and a true junzi would fight with his eyes shut so that he would fail to shoot his enemy. During a battle, if the defeated driver of a war chariot paid a ransom on the spot, his opponents would always let him escape. There should be no unseemly triumphalism. A victorious prince once refused to build a monument to commemorate a victory. “I was the cause that two countries exposed the bones of their warriors to the sun! It is cruel!” he cried. “There are no guilty here, only vassals who have been faithful to the end.”
³⁸
A commander should also never take unfair advantage of the enemy’s weakness. In 638 the Duke of
Song was anxiously waiting for the army of the Chu principality, which greatly outnumbered his own. When they heard that Chu troops were crossing a nearby river, his commander urged him to attack at once: “They are many: we are few: let us attack them before they get across!” The duke was horrified and refused to follow this advice. When the Chu had crossed but still not drawn up their battle lines, his commander again urged that they should attack. But again the duke demurred. Even though Song was soundly defeated in the ensuing battle, the duke was unrepentant: “A junzi worthy of the name does not seek to overcome the enemy in misfortune. He does not beat his drum before the ranks are formed.”
³⁹

Warfare was legitimate only if it restored the
Way of
Heaven by repelling a barbarian invasion or quashing a revolt. This “punitive warfare” was a penal exercise to rectify behavior. A military campaign against a rebellious Chinese city was therefore a highly ritualized affair, which began and ended with sacrifices at the Earth altar. When battle commenced, each side bullied the other with acts of outrageous kindness to prove its superior nobility. Boasting loudly of their prowess, warriors threw pots of wine over the enemy’s wall. When a Chu archer used his last arrow to shoot a stag that was blocking his chariot’s path, his driver immediately presented it to the enemy team that was bearing down upon them. They at once conceded defeat, exclaiming: “Here is a worthy
archer and well-spoken warrior! These are gentlemen!”
⁴⁰
But there were no such limitations in a campaign against barbarians, who could be pursued and slaughtered like wild animals.
⁴¹
When the Marquis of
Jin and his army came by chance upon the local
Rong peaceably minding their own business, he ordered his troops to massacre the entire tribe.
⁴²
In a war of civilized “us” against bestial “them,” any form of treachery or deceit was permitted.
⁴³